#I don't even know what the point of this all is only that I can't wait to be away from my family so I can heal and finally be myself

[prokopetz]

"But doesn't having a notion of 'balanced' combat inherently imply that all combat encounters are expected to be fair and winnable" well, no – it implies only that the GM has the ability to know whether a given combat encounter is fair and winnable.

There's a story that's been going around for decades about a Dungeons & Dragons party who encountered a large room full of treasure while exploring a dungeon. Immediately suspicious, they asked their GM a series of detailed questions about the room, but no obvious dangers were identified. Satisfied, they moved into the room – and were immediately set upon and eaten by the dragon that had been sitting atop the pile of treasure the whole time, which the GM hadn't mentioned because the players never specifically asked about the presence of living creatures within the room.

While this is obviously an extreme and ridiculous case, it illustrates an important point: as GM, you're the group's eyes and ears. If you don't describe something, the player characters literally can't see it – that dragon was effectively invisible from their perspective. The trick is that active malice isn't the only way to invisible-dragon your players; a group can also find themselves invisible-dragoned because the GM simply failed to provide sufficient information for the risk in question to be identified. This can happen through neglect, but it can also happen because the GM themself was unaware that the risk was present.

Now, hold on, you might be saying: the GM "plays" the entire world. How is it possible for the GM not to know that a risk is present? Well, that brings us back around to the subject of combat balance.

A game in which "balanced" combat is a meaningful thing to discuss is typically going to be one in which both the players and the GM are actually making strategic, tactical, and/or logistical decisions, rather than merely producing a description of their characters making such decisions. Without a good handle on the interplay of these decisions, it's completely possible for the GM to be wrong about the level of risk the scenario they've constructed entails.

That's actually pretty critical, because even if you don't care about the game being fair and winnable (and that's a perfectly valid stance), your players are still depending on you to be their eyes and ears, and to give them enough information to make good decisions about whether the fight in front of them is one they can win. A game where not every fight is expected to be winnable needs to be a game where the players have the opportunity to walk away.

No matter how objective you try to be, your own sense of the answer to that question is inevitably going to colour how you communicate about it. You being wrong about the level of risk at hand inherently increases the chance that your players will make bad choices. The party eating a TPK because they made a stupid decision is one thing; the party eating a TPK because they made a decision that looked reasonable from their perspective based on your unwitting miscommunication of the level of risk involved is quite another!

Sure, once the dice hit the table I'm probably going to realise that I fucked up, and I can adjust things on the fly to bring the level of risk that's actually present in line with the level of risk I communicated – but that's extra work I don't need with everything else that's on my plate. And that's a best-case scenario; if I'm running the game for a hardcore let-the-dice-fall-where-they-may group (and such groups tend to have a pretty significant overlap with groups that are cool with not every fight being winnable), I may not be able to adjust the fight's parameters on the fly without violating the social contract of the table.

Basically, whenever I see an OSR game with tactically crunchy combat brag about how its author never even thinks about "balance", what that's telling me is that running this game is going to create a whole lot of extra work for me as a GM. This is not a selling point.

[lady-wildflower]

Using AI like this is, frankly, how you train yourself to be dumb as fucking rocks and I can't believe that that's an advertised feature. Ads on TV talking about how you can use it to summarise your emails and meetings and clean up your language for corporate stuff- THOSE ARE ALL IMPORTANT SKILLS FOR YOU, THE HUMAN BEING IN THIS EQUATION, TO LEARN!

If you're having AI summarise all your big emails to you, not only do you not know for certain if it was fucking correct, you also don't know if it explained it properly and you're so intellectually lazy that you can't be arsed making sure you actually understand what you're supposed to have been told. It might somehow save time, but at the cost of both any nuance the AI didn't catch in its dataset and your own learning. And even worse, if you use it to send an email back, whoever receives that email surely expects you to have understood the actual text of their email, not whatever bullshit the AI hallucinated, when you might not have even read the AI summary very closely! Same with meetings, how the fuck can you trust an AI to properly summarise a whole fucking meeting replete with details AND WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU WANT TO WHEN YOU COULD USE YOUR HUMAN BRAIN TO PAY ATTENTION AND A NOTEPAD?! Surely I cannot be the only person who realises that such AI-driven miscommunication could be literally lethal in a particularly sensitive field?

If you're using it to code, especially when you're supposed to be learning how to code, congrats you're a moron whose motivation to be in this class I question first of all, second, not only are you producing worse code, you're not learning how to use the code to problem solve! You're not learning the flexibility and critical thinking needed for actual coding, you're actively sabotaging your own learning.

Your homework and exams are meant to prove your understanding of a topic, of course your fellow student is struggling - he doesn't have an understanding of the topic. He's outsourced that to a machine!

How little can you care about a subject if you're using it to research?! How little curiosity can you possibly have?

Don't even get me started on using it to 'write.'

I fundamentally cannot understand the impulse to use AI this way, and I suspect that therein lies the problem; it stems from such a deep level of incuriosity and genuine laziness that it just doesn't make sense to me. Why would you want an AI between you and your coworkers, obfuscating their actual communications? Why would you want an AI to do all your coding for you?? Never mind if it's bad for your soul, it's bad for your mind! At that point, you're making a machine do all of your problem-solving, all of your thinking.

If someone's gonna decide to rely on such a thing like this, then them inevitably becoming a stupid motherfucker is kinda on them. It's an active choice not to learn. And that just flabbergasts me. It's a great retort to impostor syndrome though, those AI-bro fuckers are the impostors. Feel like you're not a good enough coder? I promise you you're better than the idiots using AI.

And all that's not even getting into how wrong it often is!

I just started grad school this fall after a few years away from school and man I did not realize how dire the AI/LLM situation is in universities now. In the past few weeks:

I chatted with a classmate about how it was going to be a tight timeline on a project for a programming class. He responded "Yeah, at least if we run short on time, we can just ask chatGPT to finish it for us"

One of my professors pulled up chatGPT on the screen to show us how it can sometimes do our homework problems for us and showed how she thanks it after asking it questions "in case it takes over some day."

I asked one of my TAs in a math class to explain how a piece of code he had written worked in an assignment. He looked at it for about 15 seconds then went "I don't know, ask chatGPT"

A student in my math group insisted he was right on an answer to a problem. When I asked where he got that info, he sent me a screenshot of Google gemini giving just blatantly wrong info. He still insisted he was right when I pointed this out and refused to click into any of the actual web pages.

A different student in my math class told me he pays $20 per month for the "computational" version of chatGPT, which he uses for all of his classes and PhD research. The computational version is worth it, he says, because it is wrong "less often". He uses chatGPT for all his homework and can't figure out why he's struggling on exams.

There's a lot more, but it's really making me feel crazy. Even if it was right 100% of the time, why are you paying thousands of dollars to go to school and learn if you're just going to plug everything into a computer whenever you're asked to think??

[strangersteddierthings]

"You just can't handle the fact that these people aren't falling all over themselves to get your attention for once in your life!" Eddie growls, arms thrown in the air in exasperation.

"I don't care about getting their attention, Eddie!" Steve says once again because it feels like they've been arguing in circles forever when it's really only been about half an hour. Steve wishes he could say that he didn't understand how they got here but he does.

Eddie and his new friends. Friends that don't like Steve and go out of their way to make sure he knows that. Friends that throw snide remarks that Eddie chuckles along with. Friends that make Steve feel unwanted in his own home.

It's infuriating and frustrating and hurtful that Eddie just lets them talk about Steve like that, lets them talk to Steve like that.

"Right, so you've said," Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, like Steve's the one being immature.

"Well, since you think I'm fucking lying or something, what do you think this is about?" Steve's says, hands on his hips as he stares down Eddie at the other end of the tiny galley kitchen of their apartment.

Eddie works his jaw, the way Steve's seen him do when he's holding back a comment he thinks is particularly scathing. It's been a while since Steve's been on the receiving end of this.

"Just say it, Eddie! We're never going to end this argument unless you do," Steve goads. If Eddie will just say the thing, they can talk it out. They can work through this. Steve can fix it, but only if Eddie tells him the truth.

"Maybe it's just fucking karma, Steve!" Eddie yells. "Maybe you just can't handle that I have friends who think you're not cool and they aren't going to pretend you are!"

Steve's jaw drops, the infuriating-frustrating-hurt feeling intensifying into what feels like a lead ball in Steve's gut. Karma. Karma? "Karma? Like because I was a self-centered asshole in school that I, what, deserve to be treated like trash by your so-called 'friends'!?" Steve goes as far as to make air quotes around the word friends.

"Yeah, maybe," Eddie says, quick and even like he... like he really believes that.

Like he really believes that this treatment is what Steve deserves.

"This situation is not the same," Steve shouts back.

"Seems the same to me. The group majority against the minority. It's not like you ever stood up for anyone when Hagan was trying to give everyone swirlies, or when Perkins would knock shit out of people's hands and fake laugh an apology. You just can't handle it now that you're the minority."

"That's not the fucking same! I didn't know you in high school!"

"Well, they don't know you, either!"

All the fight drains from Steve at those words. It's like Eddie has flipped the switch in his brain to see what is happening. To see it from Eddie's point of view. Or, if Steve is being kind, the point of view of Eddie's friends who don't know Steve because they refused to get to know him.

"So, what, they're allowed to treat me the way you think I treated you?" Steve asks, voice quiet and matter of fact.

"Yes," Eddie says and then his face pinches as he actually processes what Steve said. "Wait. No. That's not- It's not exactly like that. It's just, like- the guys were saying it was status quo or something."

The guys. Eddie's 'friends'.

It's strange how 'the guys' went from meaning Jeff, Gareth, and Grant to this new group of friends and Jeff, Gareth, and Grant have become The Band. A separate, new category, othering even them from Eddie's new friends.

"I- Are you even hearing yourself right now?" Steve says in disbelief. He can see Eddie getting worked up again, so he barrels on. "I'm not just some jock you don't know. I'm your boyfriend. Your fucking boyfriend, Eddie! If you were my boyfriend in high school, I wouldn't have ever let my friends speak to you the way you let them talk to me!

"And I can't even defend myself because then everything they're saying is fucking true! That I'm a bullshit dumb jock just waiting for a chance to get violent. And I'm not! I'm not a jock anymore. And I'm not dumb! And I'm not bullshit!" Steve's vision gets blurry, and he knows he's crying but he doesn't really register it. The hurt he's feeling is leaving his body and he's just feeling numb now. "Jesus Christ, Eddie, I would never let someone talk to you the way you let your friends talk to me, and about me! Because beyond it just being the goddamn decent thing to do is not let people speak about others like that, but I love you and I can't imagine ever allowing someone to treat you the way your friends treat me. Why do you like them more than you love me!?"

Eddie's face is doing something complicated, like it always does when Steve cries. Like Eddie wants to sooth him but isn't sure how.

And that's all it takes. Something in Steve crumbles but not in the way he wants it to. Steve was hoping that if they talked this out that they could be okay. They could figure out a way forward.

Because here is Eddie's face, showing how much he loves and cares for Steve and wants to help him, but all Steve realizes is that Eddie might love him, but not enough to tell his friends to treat Steve with some basic respect and kindness.

He can't be here anymore. He can't be in this kitchen and see his hurt reflected on Eddie's face. He can't be in this apartment that used to feel so cozy and comforting and now just feels like a prison. He doesn't know if he can even be in this relationship if Eddie doesn't love him the same way as he used it.

How did they get to this point? How did they get to a point where Eddie is just okay with people treating Steve this way? How did Steve let it go this long without addressing it sooner?

When did Eddie decide that the approval of his new friends was more important than his feelings for Steve?

"Steve, I-"

Steve doesn't stick around to hear whatever it is Eddie's going to say. He turns on heel, speed walking to the door where he pauses just long enough to grab his jacket from the coat rack before fleeing the apartment.

-

Inspired by @novacorpsrecruit's fic, It’s lonely at the top. Which has a happy ending, so you should read it.

[theminecraftbee]

"You let me think you were dead, you know."

Jimmy winces, but he doesn't turn around to look at Grian, or Cuteguy, or whatever he's going by right now. He considers just walking away. He considers a lot of things, but he doesn't expect he'll be able to, because--

"Don't walk away from me, Jimmy."

When Jimmy turns around, Grian's only half-dressed as Cuteguy, wearing no goggles, the paints he uses to disguise his wings slowly bleeding out, streaks of bold pink and black dripping down otherwise dull brown patterns. Jimmy takes a moment to stare. He's not quite sure which name he's supposed to be calling the man in front of him. On the one hand, he's not wearing the goggles, his dark eyes fully visible to the world. On the other hand, he's still wearing most of the clothes, and there's escrima sticks still hanging from his belt, and while the paint is fading it's still right there, hiding the patterns that make the wings identifiable as Grian.

Jimmy shifts uncomfortably. "I did," he says, finally.

"You let me think you were shot in the head in front of me," Cuteguy says.

"That, uh, did happen," Jimmy says. Cuteguy gestures at Jimmy. Jimmy swallows. "Look, uh, it's not like it was super fun for me to wake up in the morgue either."

"You could have said something!" Cuteguy says. "You could have--you could have just, just rung me up and, and said--"

"Sorry man, it turns out that you getting me killed got undone?" Jimmy says, equally quietly, and Grian reels back in the same way that Jimmy imagines he must have when he was shot, too.

"Timmy," Grian says.

"I mean, I don't actually really blame you that much at this point," Jimmy says. "I don't really--it's not exactly your fault someone else shot us. I'm--I mean, I'm not happy with--you call him Forgery. Not so happy he didn't know that--yeah. But it's still a little... I did die, you know."

"You should have said something," Cuteguy says.

"I'm still kinda dead," Jimmy says.

"Timmy, I--I thought you were dead. I thought I wasn't ever--I'm sorry," Grian says.

"Oh," Jimmy says, because he's not sure what else to say. He both did and didn't expect an apology. It is, after all, Grian; it is, after all, Grian.

"I'm sorry, I'm--I was just, just yelling at you again because I was scared, because, because you're one of my best friends, and, and you were dead, Timmy. You were dead."

Jimmy's not sure what to say, or which of the person in front of him said that. He's fairly certain it's Grian. He's also fairly certain the world is grey and blurry again, and he has to take deep breaths, digging his fingers into his palms and trying very hard to remember that it's not really Cuteguy's fault, or even really Forgery's; until then, neither of them had understood how dangerous it was, either.

But it's not them that faced the consequences, is it?

Joel says it's fair to be angry. It's fair to blame them. Jimmy doesn't know that it is.

"I was dead," agrees Jimmy.

"Not going to say anything else?" Grian asks.

"No," Jimmy says.

Grian stares, and then it is most certainly Cuteguy who pulls himself together, shakes his wings until his feathers are straighter, and puts on a face that betrays nothing of the heartbreak or confusion or hurt he's feeling. Jimmy does, absolutely, hate it.

"Actually, I just wish... I don't know, man. Never mind," Jimmy says.

(He hates the way he doesn't recognize his own best friend some days nearly as much as he hates the way he doesn't recognize himself.)

Cuteguy stares for a long moment.

"Yeah, me too," he says. "Do... do you wanna come get sushi at that one weird place you like? Where you have the weird rivalry with that one server?"

"He insists salmon is the best sushi fish, and is absolutely wrong," Jimmy says primly, and then he nods, and even Cuteguy can't help but betray his relief.

They walk side-by-side, together. It doesn't really matter who they are now.

[shiiro-arts]

Hi! I really love your posts. I wanted to ask can you please go into more detail about how you think Lucy acts more hyperactive compared to Natsu when they are alone. You said that in an older post and I wanted to get your take on that in more detail because it makes sense and I never really thought about it until you said it!! Thank you so much!!

Of course!!!

Okey, so I want to start with this picture:

Natsu gets calm and relaxed arround Lucy, this is not a headcanon, or the fandom being delusional, it's straight up facts.

With a relaxed state of mind comes how one really behaves, and with Natsu, it's extremely obvious.

We can compare it to how he acts with everyone else in the guild versus Lucy (when they are alone)

Here he was alone with Gray FOR 3 DAYS, and the only thing they did was fight (I'm not saying they don't have a good relationship, they have a very healthy rivalry)

Gildarts:

Erza:

This second pic just shows how even erza knows that his first instinct would be to fight her given the chance:

Laxus:

And anyone in the guild really

Now, I know that the people I showed are people Natsu admires, people he wants to defeat in the future in a fair fight, but that doesn't mean he can't have real relaxing moments with them, for example, Erza. She is like his older sister and Natsu glorifies her, but he doesn't see her as someone he can relax with like he does with Lucy.

In other words, Natsu uses the guild to vent.

While Lucy is his safe place.

I, personally, believe that Natsu uses his fights in the guild to make a point. To make people see that he is reliable, that's why he keeps challenging the strongest guild members.

I'm not saying he doesn't think lucy is strong, he just doesn't WANT to fight her. Actually, not only he doesn't want to fight her, he can't, at least not willingly.

The guild does know that he is strong, they just remind him that he is just not there yet, he has the potential, but he needs time, and while this is true we have never seen Lucy doubt Natsu's strenght. She ALWAYS thinks that he is going to win, no matter what, no matter who he is against. Lucy completely believes that he will win no matter what.

Natsu uses his time with Lucy to actually relax, he doesn't see the necesity to fight Lucy, since she actually believes that he is the strongest, she has absolute blind and complete faith in Natsu, giving him what he actually needs, rest.

The reason why I say she seems more hyperactive compared to Natsu is not because she necessarily is, it's just that Natsu can actually relax with her, making her seem more hyperactive.

When both of them are relaxed, they look like a god damn family

Sorry for going all out with the pics, I just love them so much

[ollieofthebeholder]

I used to get violently ill every time my church had a celebration. Like, VIOLENTLY ill. I was fine with the regular potluck, but if it was, like, a graduation party, with cake and a punch bowl and all of that? I would be sick most of the night. I spent about ten years getting scolded for eating too much cake at these celebrations, as it was assumed that I, as an obviously fat child with no self-control, was simply lying when I said I'd only had one piece, or that I hadn't even had any because it was obviously whipped icing and I hated whipped icing.

Then when I was about fifteen or so, I was waiting patiently for the woman in charge of the punch bowl to add more soda so I could have a second cup of punch in hopes that the carbonation would settle my stomach, which was already starting to hurt, because the rest of the guests had drained it dry. I watched her come out with the bottle. I watched her pour it. I noted the paler label on the soda bottle. I expressed surprise (and mild dismay) that she was using diet soda in the punch bowl.

I was informed that she always used diet soda in the punch bowl.

It might seem like not such a big deal to YOU, because it tastes just as good and it's healthier and you don't need that much sugar anyway and and and...I've heard all the excuses, trust me. But saccharine triggers migraines, and sucralose gives me digestive issues, and aspartame does both, and even stevia makes my mouth hurt. I cannot drink diet sodas without getting sick.

And because nobody told me that was what was going on, I spent ten years getting fat-shamed by people who were trying to fix the wrong problem.

I'm also allergic to grapes. Guess what one of the most common filler juices is. Guess how many commercial cookies have raisin paste in them. Guess how many recipes use wine, or sherry, or brandy. (That's also one I have a lot of people trying to fix the wrong problem with. I ask if there's wine because the recipe commonly has wine in it, they assure me that even if it DOES the alcohol all cooks out, I explain that you can't cook out the grape, they get a very panicked look and say they'll find out.) Did you know that cream of tartar is a byproduct of wine making, and that cookies (like traditional snickerdoodles) that have cream of tartar in them are therefore unsafe for someone like me?

I'm also allergic to bananas. Guess what the most common egg substitute is in vegan baking.

And you know what? My brother hates mayonnaise. Absolutely loathes it. It's not an allergy thing, he just doesn't like it. And I still wouldn't give him food that had mayo in it without telling him. (I did once, at my mother's instigation. I'd made a pasta salad in scouts and brought it home for dinner, and my mother told him it had marshmallow fluff in it. He ate it, and afterwards, she told me to tell him what was REALLY in it. He threw up. Don't know if it was a genuine reaction or just him making a point. Don't care. I've never done that since.)

Don't sneak people food without telling them what's in it. Even if you want to show them that something is just as good as [insert food here], even if you know it's just a preference and not an allergy...just. Give them the courtesy of making their own damn decisions.

“Meatless alternatives are getting so good, you should try them! I bet you wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference! In fact….”

Please

Please

Please stop trying to sneak-feed me meat alternatives.

I am willing to prepare and share a vegan meal with you, I’m willing to skip animal products in our group spaces.

Please.

Stop trying to sneak-feed me meat alternatives.

[littelovelunette]

this one isn’t smut, but could you do vi and reader having an argument, and vi raises her arms in exasperation, and the reader flinches and has a panic attack because of past childhood trauma, and vi comforts reader and makes sure they’re safe

Promise Me

Contains implied PTSD, trauma, mentions of abuse, sensitive content

This one feels personal…

Vi had been letting go of herself, pit fighting and getting drunk, it made you sad.

You knew she was suffering deep inside and she was hurting but acting the way she did, hurt you as well. You just wanted her to put things in the past and move on with her life but she didn't seem like she was interested in doing that anytime soon.

You both weren't in an exclusive relationship, it was more like a random hookup where you both caught feelings somewhat and now live together. It was weird but you never found her sober enough to talk it through.

You were watching Vi stumble into the living room, clearly drunk as the bottle of alcohol fell out of her loose grip. The bandages she had on her arms and the chest bindings were all soaked with blood and sweat. She looked awful.

“You're drunk. Again.” you said, your tone clearly fed up and angry.

Vi only hiccuped a little and slurred a response back, “Looking so pretty while so angry.”

You rolled your eyes and walked over to her, sitting down at the couch, pulling her by the wrist so she would sit down beside you. “I don't understand. I'm trying to help you but you're not letting me. You're ruining yourself going down this path of painless self destruction.

While I wouldn't exactly say it's completely painless.” You pointed out the bruises and cuts she had from the fights.

You hated her being like this. She was just as good as an alcoholic by now.

“Stop nagging me,” Vi simply said, getting off the couch instead of letting you patch her up like she usually allowed while she was drunk.

You got up, now even angrier than before. “Vi,” you called, “I'm not nagging, I'm only saying you should take care of yourself. How do you even tell yourself you love me if you can't even bring yourself to love you?”

Vi groaned a little, “Blah, blah, blah, I'm too tired to go through your shit right now. Can't I just go to my room and take a fucking nap?”

“No, we need to talk about this.” You pressed despite knowing she was drunk. She was drunk pretty much all the time. What difference would it make if you questioned her about it now?

Maybe she would change, maybe she wouldn't. Instead of waiting longer for pretty much no results, it was better to just know now.

Vi huffed and crossed her arms, eyes bloodshot due to the alcohol, “What do you gotta say? Spit it out.”

“You need to stop all this fighting drinking, it's not a healthy coping mechanism,” you said, crossing your arms as well as you eyed the other woman.

“Healthy coping mechanism?! Look around! We're in the Undercity! Nothing’s healthy here if anything!” Vi yelled, her voice raising, making your heart pound against your chest almost painfully. You hated seeing her so drunk… and verbally hurtful.

“Do you wanna be like all the junkies we see out on the road?” You asked, trying to maintain a calm collected tone.

Just then Vi raised her hands in exasperation and you took a step back, flinching and hiding your face. Vi completely paused seeing you do that.

“Love,” she said, her voice an octave lower, she walked closer, hand hovering over your shoulder as if scared to break you, “Love, what's wrong?”

“N-Nothing,” you pushed her away and walked into the shared bedroom, trying to collect yourself.

Her raising her hands like that brought back bad memories. Pain. Screaming. Begging. To just stop. It felt like something was stuck in your esophagus and you couldn't breathe properly.

Forcing yourself to swallow the growing lump in your throat, you stared at yourself in the mirror. A small, barely visible scar on your left eyelid, the bruises that littered your legs. It was like every other memory you tried to bury deep away, away from your everyday day and mannerisms, they were coming back to haunt you again.

You could almost hear the screams and the begging behind your eyes, somewhere in your head and you weren't sure if you were being sane right then.

Something was bothering you…

“Sweetheart,” Vi walked into the room and cupped your face making you look up at her, “Tell me what's going on.”

You let out a breath, a shuddering breath as the imagery of blood, darkness, tears flashed through your brain at once making you flinch and try to pull again but Vi didn't let you.

She wrapped you up in her strong arms, hands caressing the soft locks of your hair and even if she was sweaty, bloody and reeked of alcohol you couldn't help but find love within her hug. And acceptance.

You knew she was always there but it was harder to open up about something so sensitive if you've buried them deep long enough.

“I'd never hit you. Never.” Vi said, kissing your head and making you look at her again to ensure that you understood what she said.

“Pinky swear?” you managed to ask in a low voice.

It broke Vi’s heart that you needed that much reassurance despite her saying she wouldn't hurt you ever, making her wonder just how many levels of hell you had been through in the past.

“Pinky swear…”

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

Poppy Playtime: True Ending (all toys saved, all secrets founds)

Synopsis: Angel saved all the toys inside PlayCo, and is now sitting outside waiting for the authorities to appear. What will happen now? Warnings: Canon-typical violence. Story is in 2nd person but Angel is their own character here. THIS HAS NOT BEEN PROOFREAD SO THERE WILL BE ERRORS. Have fun, byeee.

You are shaking.

Granted, this is the first time in the last two weeks that you aren't trembling due to fear of being killed or due to the cold, but anxiety. You're scared, still riding off adrenaline and without any idea of what could happen now, and you are certain that in any moment, you'll end up dropping unconscious on the floor. And yet, you don't. You cannot, really, considering your situation.

You take a deep breath, the smell of smoke filling your senses. Despite your best efforts, your hands are still dirty with dried blood.

Dogday lies against you, eyes turned towards the Sun. His white pupils seem to be sparkling in amazement; this is the first time in more than a decade that he has seen the Sun. Maybe two, who knows, you're too tired to do the math. You scratch his head, but he doesn't look away from the sky. The beautiful open sky. You had taken it for granted a few times in your life. Only a few. Never again. Never again...

Kissy is on your right side, anxiously holding your arm. Poppy is on your lap, still holding your Nokia phone and telling the kind 911 operator of your situation. You wonder how anxious she would be feeling if you were the one talking there... She was at the verge of tears before speaking up. "Understood, miss", she tells the second normal human she ever interacted with in the past decade. "Please warn them to be careful, we went through a lot and don't want to deal with even more".

You scratch her head. Huggy is next to your rundown car, on the other side of the parking lot, the mini critters and wuggies running around. Some of them grab the leaves and jump at the newfound texture. Others try digging in the dirt. One of them points at the car and ask each other how they can disassemble it. Catnap, standing right next to them, shakes his head. "This belongs to our Savior".

Baba is also sitting next to you. She watches over the mini nightmares debating over something you don't fully understand, as some of them climb over Catnap. He doesn't mind the act. Doey, on the other hand...

You stare at him. Little Simon is still sleeping on his arms, too anxious to join the others. Doey adjusts his own hat, his eyes going from corner to corner, especially towards where the little ones of Safe Haven are. Marie is taking good care of them, sitting on the concrete floor as they analyze flowers. Delight is next to her, tilting her head in curiosity as a centipede crawls over her hands, eyes sparkling. "This is fascinating!", she announces, happily stimming with her feet.

"... Doey?"

You reach your hand to him. He flinches before blinking, taken out of his trance. Upon noticing your worried stare, he forces a smile on his face: "I'm okay, Angel, no need to worry about me".

"And what about the other two?", you ask again, not letting go of him.

He's once again caught off-guard. You thought that by this point, the three kids would have gotten used to being equally acknowledged. Guess there's still work to be done, but we'll be alright. We have time, now. Just enough time.

"We're fine", Kevin grunts, looking away.

"Just tell me when it's too much, alright, kiddos? Don't want the sirens to scare you guys. They sound similar to the stuff back at PlayCo."

"I said we're fine", and there goes that familiar growl. "Shoosh, leave them".

"Matthew, let Kevin speak. It's okay for him to be upset".

"We can't scare the others"

"The others would like for all three of you to speak a bit", you reply, shaking your head. "Including Jack. Is he alright?"

"...", Doey shakes, before timidly nodding and fidgeting with his hands. "... I am".

You give him a smile. Dogday bumps his head against his shoulder, and Jack relaxes, his tense body softening. He repeats the gesture towards the critter, confirming that he'll be alright.

Pianosaurus and Yarnaby then bump their heads against your legs, both of them with plants hanging out from their mouths. Poppy jumps on your lap: "Thank you for the... Bouquet", you tell them, accepting the offering. Yarnaby purrs as a response, sitting on the ground. "Ollie, ya okay, kid?"

The baby long legs stares at you with that very, very energetic look of his, wrapped around a blanket and shaking in his lone seat next to yours. "It's fucking cold", he growls, grumpy as ever.

"Language!", Dogday warns him.

"We're not inside PlayCo. anymore, we can say whatever we want now, you dingus".

"Please don't have another argument before we arrive at the hospital", you ask the duo, sighing again. "... Want another blanket, Ollie?"

"I want a warm room away from this cold, that's what I want".

"Wait an hour or two, then".

"Urgh".

"You welcome".

You close your eyes, feeling the Sun against your skin. The Prototype's words echo in your head, the promise you two made still there:

These kids shall be safe and happy.

You can still hear the mechanical sounds his legs made when he walked. A part of you swears that it can feel him watching over your bunch from inside the factory, despite the cameras outside not being functional anymore. You don't doubt he would be capable of finding a way to watch the scene, though.

You stare at the burning parts of the factory in the background, and, before you can start doubting if this will grab the authorities' attention, you hear sirens in the background.

Cop sirens, to be exact.

Poppy looks up to you, Doey jumps on his seat, and you put the doll on Kissy's lap before jumping over Yarnaby:

"KIDS!", you call the others. "EVERYBODY, GET BACK THERE, THEY'RE COMING!"

Just one word:

FUCK.

Why did it have to be the COPS the first people to pop up, and not a fucking ambulance?! Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Just. Shit. FUCK (again). You are so, SO fucking lucky sometimes, urgh. Let's hope they don't scare the kids even more.

Huggy, Catnap, Marie and Doey help you retrieve the chaos gremlins back to the group. You count: All +100 of them are there, with no exceptions. You hold Doey's face and tell him to remain strong, you tell Kissy and Huggy that they have nothing to fear with you around, you assure Marie and Catnap don't make a murder plan, and you sit back on your seat.

The first car that appears makes your stomach curl. You stare at it, unmoving. The tension is palpable. The kids are anxious, terrified and horrified when the two cops get out of the car and turn to you.

You stare at them, suddenly more aware than ever that you have visible blood stains on your clothes and you must be looking like hell, and they stare at you in silence, approaching with their mean looks. Poppy moves on your seat, clinging to you even more, her call having just ended.

You stare at the cops again.

The cops stare at you again.

You bite your tongue. They aren't approaching you anymore, instead, stopping several meters away from your group, wide-eyed, and then you realize that they aren't reaching for their guns.

Finally, you roll your eyes:

"Do we have a problem here, officer?"

The guy you think is the oldest of the duo, a pale man with sunken brown eyes, seems taken completely off-guard for a moment. Bunzo clings to your leg, anxious. PJ Pug-a-Pillar tilts his head in curiosity, and you notice that Delight is waving at the duo.

"W...", the younger man's voice fails him. "What the-"

"Don't ya finish that sentence, there's kids there", you grunt, noticing the other cars appearing. "We need as many ambulances as possible, now. The kids needs medical attention".

"What happened there?", the officer demands, and his eyes go to the very much still burning piece of factory. You glance back at it for a moment before returning your attention to him.

"Executives", you shrug, aaaand more people pop out of the cars. "Tell your friends to back off, it's been a decade since these kids saw other people, and they bite".

"This is private property. What are you doing here?"

Private property, private property my fucking ass- "get your friends to back off, or else I won't say shit to you".

"You have no right-"

"Mister Officer, please, you must listen!"

You would have laughed at the guy's face upon seeing Poppy getting up from your seat. Catnap growls as a response to his voice tone, and you don't know if it's the sound he makes or his movements, but it seems convincing enough for the asshole to actually back off, and actually and properly inform the rest of the group to not approach.

"Thank you", Poppy mutters.

"Don't thank him", you scratch her head. "I am in private property because the owner of this frickin' place invited me in because he and these kids were stuck in there for the past decade. I need a dang ambulance for once".

"And who is the owner?"

You almost say Elliot Ludwig, but even your own tolerance for absurdity isn't high enough to buy that one. So you bite your tongue, you stay on your seat, and you hear more sirens echoing in the background.

"Long ass story", you mutter, before getting up, bag on one hand, Poppy in another.

You have no idea how or why, but the officer almost doesn't react when you approach him. His friend places a hand on his gun, but you don't react either, merely giving him the heavy bag.

"These are the documents", you tell him, watching the ambulances arrive.

"Did you steal these documents?"

"They were given to me", you half-lie, half-tell the truth.

"I'll have to ask you to follow me, ma'am, and tell me why there's a fire happening in an abandoned factory".

"W-wait, no!", Poppy desperately stares at you, wide-eyed. "T-they can't go, we need them!"

You merely unzip your jacket, exposing your very much still bleeding out shoulder and your very much still soaked in blood torso, and shrug.

You see people coming out of the ambulances. Bunzo runs to you, grabbing your leg as he stares at the officer, wide-eyed. "I-I won't let you take mama away!"

Well, there goes the cop's control of the situation, because now some of the minis also approach you, clinging to both your legs and back, and you know they look too realistic and move too naturally for them to be animatronics or robots. Other cops start moving to approach you, and you...

Yawn.

Damn, you're tired as hell-

A guy presents himself as the lieutenant, and another as the deputy chief. You tilt your head. Looks like your way of grabbing attention may have worked too well...

Marie's hand grabs your good shoulder. You don't react to her staring at the group, merely waiting for your permission to probably kill them or something worse. Despite what you wish you can do, you merely hold her hand. The deputy chief grabs the bag, and stares at the nurses who just got out of the ambulance before petting the shoulders of the first officer.

"Looks like we got big fish in our hands", he tells the guy. Uhm. Okay. "Go take these things to the ambulance. Let us handle the rest".

You blink, remembering what the Prototype told you about many people knowing about what PlayCo. was doing, but never doing anything about it. You stare at the man's eyes, and you aren't very good with judging people by looks but your stomach curls around itself, and you know one damn thing.

He stares at you with a certain disdain and hatred in his eyes. You smile. You hear a helicopter approaching, alongside a van from a news report. Your smile widens, a shit eating grin that goes from ear to ear as you realize who has the power over the situation.

"Looks like the mess you ignored finally caught up to you, eh, officer?"

You turn your back to the group, unafraid. "W-what's going on, Angel?", Dogday asks on his seat, terrified, as you put Poppy on his lap.

"Oh, a lot", you now grab your actual backpack, reaching for your water bottle as the kids stare at you, anxious. "A whole, whooole lot".

"What are they going to do?", Marie asks in a whisper. "Should we...?"

"Nope. We aren't killing anyone, pirralhada", you take a generous sip of water. "We just hit the jackpot".

You hear the number of people growing in the background. Good thing you told the kids to keep themselves quiet, and even better thing that they are listening.

"We're going to take whatever remains of PlayCo. down. And, most importantly, we'll make sure the people who didn't help you guys pay. But, right now?"

You turn towards the humans again.

"Right now, we gotta go to the hospital".

[ventique18]

~ Unwilting Flower~ 🐉🌸

It's Valentine's Day. Your friends are giving each other flowers just for the heck of it, because if they're not going to celebrate it, who else would? You yourself are already committed, but real friends don't exclude anyone. So that means you're part of their celebration too.

And you could only guess what the exact thought process is going on in his head when your darling-- your Valentine Malleus Draconia's delightful smile turns into a deep scowl the moment he sees you carrying a bundle of assorted flora in your arms.

"Hmph. Wait for a moment."

He disappears without your confirmation. Why, is he jealous? You shrug and thought you'd just let him simmer down on his own-- you have nothing to feel guilty about. He knows your bonds with your friends are strictly platonic. If he feels jealous in any way, he could just join your merry band of flower giving, present something to everyone, and receive some himself.

... And then you arrive at your classroom for that hour... to a blossom of multicolored roses decorating your desk; as gaudy as a flower cake, with only a few inches of blank space left in the middle. As if the decorator only realized at the last second that you're supposed to be studying and not gardening.

You can't help but feel everyone's gaze on you throughout the entire lecture, naturally.

But that's not even the end of it. Random bursts of flower petals would shower on you when you enter a room. A student you don't know the name of would present you a bouquet of various knickknacks for seemingly no reason. (You note that they're all suspiciously wearing Diasomnia uniform.) And flowers start blooming at your feet when you accompany Grim to the field for his Spelldrive practice.

But the straw on the camel's back is when you go back home. Right there, in the dead center of your lounge, sitting pretty and sipping tea-- is the main culprit. Surrounded by what you would guess are thousands, and thousands, of roses.

Ever the pleasant look on his face, he smiles slowly at you with a clink of his teacup. "Did you like my little surprise for you?"

"Little--"

You have to remind yourself that this man has no common sense.

You refuse to sit next to him even as he discreetly pats the empty space on the couch. "Well, I appreciate it. It really made me feel the depth of your love for me--"

"The depth of my love? If you believe it so, then I must offer you more posthaste--"

"That's, that's exactly my reservation... I think you don't need to be this excessive. I mean," You gesture helplessly to the roses around you, "It'll make me sad when all of this wilts."

You see him surprised for a second. Does he finally understand? Did he get that the cleanup will be a huge pain? You live alone, and you're sure as hell Grim wouldn't be willing to help play janitor for an entire day.

"Then," he grins at you amusedly, as if you just asked if he knew how to spell his name, "If you wish to be reminded of my devotion to you every waking day, then it'll be child's play for me to ensure than not a single petal wilts for as long as you live."

No! Absolutely not!

"Hornton. I thought you'd have understood who I am at this point." You look away from him, a bit nervous to be rejecting his efforts when he looks so earnest in trying to win your approval. "You know I'd rather spend time with you. A little bit of wine and dine, maybe? Maybe watch a cheesy movie or two."

He pauses. Looks at you seriously. He seems to have caught on.

He stands up, and every blossom in the room-- every rose petal on the carpet and every vine that carefully lined the curtains, disappears with a sparkle. Devoid of the sudden fancy, only the bare homeliness of your dorm remains.

He doesn't walk to you, but he attracts your gaze anyway. "My apologies. I seemed to have focused on satisfying myself, rather than think of what would satisfy you."

You smile reassuringly. "It's alright. I know how hard you try."

It's you who finally approaches. You stop in front of him, then take his hands in yours. He returns the gesture by affectionately rubbing the tips of your fingers, and there you're reminded of how much heavier he can show love through little actions like this, compared with the pomp of public exhibitions.

You entwine your fingers together.

"But why the sudden display? Were you jealous?" You ask.

He urges you to sit down with him. "Jealous?"

"That our friends gave me flowers."

Our friends. The corners of his lips quirks up at that; in his eyes, it's the little considerate messages that you weave in your words that makes you stand out from everyone else.

"No. In fact I'm delighted that they appreciate you. It's just..."

"Just..?"

"... That I saw Schoenheit behind you, carrying a much larger bouquet than you were. I thought he did not deserve to be the most appreciated person in this place."

"... And so you... tried to one-up him by doing all that for me?"

He nods.

And you laugh.

"What's so amusing?"

He really doesn't realize how funny he is sometimes. You cover a hand to your mouth to try and slow down the giggles. "You're so unpredictable. I just can't correctly guess what goes on in your head."

"It's you who's unpredictable."

"Then that's good, isn't it? We have an eternity to try and decipher what each other's thinking." Your gaze roams; settling on his tea gone cold, "Then at the end of the world... we can reveal our answers and decide who got each other most accurately."

The crinkles on his brows slowly smoothen when he takes in your words. His hands unconsciously trail to the inside of his coat; toying with something as he wonders idly.

"... I have something for you." He says solemnly.

You stop giggling, but the smile remains on your face. "Don't tell me it's another Valentine's token. Maybe chocolate?"

He grins, but doesn't answer you. Instead, his hands wander to your jacket; fingers expertly pinning something on the lapel. Just above your left breast.

"A gift for you, but a promise to myself as well."

It's a brooch. Perhaps a bit more simple in design-- a tasteful black with a muted sheen of alexandrite-- definitely not themed around the gaudy red of Valentine's, but very distinctively him.

"May I always be the one closest to your heart, and though our bodies may decay before the end of time..."

You press his hands closer to your chest; determined not to let go as you finish his promise for him. For yourself.

"May this unwilting flower bear witness to the many promises we will make, and how we stayed true to all of them."

[daylighted]

FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─ㅤDEAN & LITTLE FOX ! READER !

" take a look at the sky just before you die — it's the last time you will ! "

file. all the man who never prayed wanted was someone that would listen and hear him. beggars could not be choosers when it came to the listening ears that lent themselves.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ———

dean came to terms with the simple fact that he, as a single individual in an undersaturated business, could not save everyone. but when he watched as you fell from the sky that night, he wished only for the ability to save you.

something had happened in the confines of the clouds before you fell. blood stained your face, your teeth, your pouting lips. your eyes were glossed in utter devastation, the front of the cream-colored silk slip you wore glossy maroon, clinging to your skin.

but it was not any of these details that made dean determined to help, in whatever way he could. it was the wings, wide and bright and untouched on your back. they glimmered like dusts of glitter upon feathers underneath the moonlight, something made of beauty attached to something that looked so wrong to the images in his head.

you don't look at him as you wail into your blood stained palms, the sound of your broken cries ricocheting around the forest, bouncing between tree trunk to tree trunk, muffled in the wind and in between the leaves.

dean doesn't exactly know what to do in this situation. a lot weighed heavily on him, and sure, a few times in these last few months had he begged for someone in the stars to just hear him, but he didn't expect for that someone to fall.

you looked like he felt — broken and shattered and damned. you were beautiful, though, in your ruins.

your red rimmed eyes shift up to meet his at the first sound of grass crunching beneath his feet, daring a step closer.

"what happened?" feels like too harsh of a way to address something so wounded, but it's all he has to offer you. the hand that hovers awkwardly in the dead space between the both of you doesn't seem to be working any miracles for your state, either.

you grasp at the silk clinging to your skin, your hand pulling away shiny and red. the sob you let out cracks through all of his armors and breaks him. "i don't know."

dean hadn't... ever seen an angel so human, before. so utterly unashamed of the tears staining your cheeks, so connected to the vessel you possess that you can't even seem to help yourself.

he'd help you.

hell, how many times had dean held crying girls in his arms and picked up their broken pieces for them? how many times had he clutched the loved ones of people overtaken by monsters, lost to the unnatural and the uncanny, and promised that it would be okay, even knowing that things would never again be the same for them?

you were not something that dean couldn't handle. that he hadn't already handled.

maybe he should have walked away. the gods and the angels didn't once answer him before, and somehow tonight, one literally lands directly in front of him? just for him?

something was off about it. unnatural, uncanny: but nothing that he hadn't dealt with before.

he crouches down to your level, and your eyes are striking. there is definitely something other about you, something a little off that people not trained in his expertise wouldn't pick up on. you could pass as a human more than any other angel could, but up close, he picked at the details with a finetooth comb.

your eyes were not blue, but purple. your ears were a little pointed at the tips. your grateful smile a little too cruel and unfeeling to be genuine. still, when he tried to find a word to describe you in his mind, he could only settle on beautiful, like no other word existed.

he might have asked you what you were. but his pessimism didn't seep all the way down to the marrow of his bones and his heart, and his heart screamed that you were an angel sent just for him. his angel. the one for him to keep safe, and to keep him afloat.

the words die on his tongue, and when staring at you starts to make your expression twist in his trick-playing eyes, you tilt your head up to look up at the starry skies.

"i haven't seen stars in forever," your voice is laced in awe, gaze flitting between each sparkling dot in the deep blue night, like you couldn't seem to settle on one.

dean wants to say, me neither. wants to lay beneath the canopies of leaves and drink in the rare moment of peace he's found here with you. this broken thing still taking the breaths to memorialize beauty through the pain inside of you.

instead, his mouth opens, and something less expected comes out. "come home with me."

there is that flicker in your eyes again. the something other that he can't seem to place, that he loses the moment he clocks it. again, all dean sees when your eyes meet his is that devastating purple, and a devastating amount of shimmering hope in them.

"home?"

dean's face flattens. "...is a motel, an hour or so away."

"a home is a home," you say, and the blood on your hand is dry now. dean knows it because you close the crusted fingers around his own, finally, and allow him to pull you to your feet. "i have not had a home in forever, either."

you won't get the innuendo or jest in his joke, but he says it anyways. "i get to be your first?"

your eyes dance now, those pretty lips once again wicked. "if only you were."

notes. short asf but u just need an intro... b4 we get juicy ok. AND IT'S GONNA GET JUICY QUUUUICK. I AM JUST WRITING THE FIRST TO SAM & TO DEAN TONIGHT SO IF I LET THEM GET LONG ASF IT WILL LIVE IN MY DRAFTS FOREVER </3 ok bye.

tags. @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @theosaurous @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @eepwtf @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @aileenunfiltered @abox-of-rocks @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @misatxox @sunsettsam @angelblqde @bombarda-babe @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @voidsuites @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling if u want added or taken off pls lmk <3

[coraniaid]

I know I keep going on about this, but I really do think that the majority of the Buffy fandom downplays the importance of Buffy's relationship with her mother to, at times, an almost ludicrous extent. Obviously it's not a perfect relationship (if you think Buffy has a perfect relationship with anyone on the show you've really not been paying attention) and indeed at times it's a very strained one, but it's a central part of understanding who Buffy is and why she says and does things that a lot of writing about Buffy on this site just ... pretends isn't there.

There are more or less extreme examples of this -- I saw a "Giles should have adopted Buffy!" post a couple of years ago that didn't even acknowledge that Buffy had a mother who might have objected -- but so much analysis of the show seems not to engage seriously with the thought that Buffy might care about her mother as a person or worry about her mother's opinion of her. And really, the show is very, very clear about this. There are multiple episodes in the high school seasons where the emotional stakes only make sense if you accept that 'demons from hell might end the world' and 'Joyce might think her daughter is getting into trouble at school' are two roughly equivalent problems for Buffy to navigate.

I recently saw a post about Season 5 that listed Joyce's death as just one of several different reasons for Buffy's burgeoning depression that season -- along with Riley leaving and her having to drop out of college -- but .... that's not right, is it? Those aren't three isolated and independent issues at all. All of those factors go back to Buffy's mom. Riley leaves her in Into The Woods because he decided the fact she's too worried about her mom getting sick to spend time humoring his fragile ego means she doesn't really love him. Buffy drops out of college in Tough Love because her mother died and she has to take care of her sister ... which, when you remember that Dawn is explicitly presented as a stand-in for Buffy ("she's more than [my sister]," Buffy tells us in The Gift, "she's me"), can only be read as Buffy dropping out because she has to take care of herself. "Who's going to take care of us?" as she asked Dawn in Forever.

Buffy's depressive spiral in Season 5 happens because her mother dies. There are aggravating factors, sure, but this is surely the heart of it. It's not because her crappy boyfriend left or she suddenly remembered she was a Slayer. It's because her mom gets sick and dies, and Buffy Summers -- who is afraid of hospitals, who blames herself for every death in Sunnydale, who has been trying to protect her mother from the supernatural for years, who hates the very thought of there being problems in the world she can't solve, who loves her mother more than she can say -- doesn't know what to do about it.

"I don't know how to live in the world [...] if everything just gets stripped away. I don't see the point. I just wish my mom was here," she tells Giles in The Gift. It's Buffy who turns to the door to let the shadow of her mother back inside in Forever, and Dawn who has to break the spell that brought her back. In Season 6, Buffy is trapped by a demon in a fantasy world where she was never the Slayer and her mother is still alive, and it's that image of her mother, telling her that she's strong and urging her not to give up which allows her to break free. When Giles comes back to England that season, and offers Buffy a temporary reprieve from all her new financial worries, the highest praise Buffy has for him is that this uncharacteristic generosity on his part is "a little like having Mom back".

There are people in the world Buffy cares about as much as her mother (but not as many as some of you think), and there are perhaps a dozen characters who appear in the show more or get more speaking time than Joyce Summers, and there are certainly lots of characters the writers obviously care much more about as people in their own right. (Like many of you, the writers seem pretty dubious about the idea that middle-aged women could ever be interesting.)

But there is nobody in the world who means more to Buffy than her mother, and I think trying to analyze the show as if there were is going to give you a very strange impression of what's actually going on. Ideas like, well, maybe Giles should have adopted Buffy.

[gangstalkerbarbie]

People treat autistic people as if they're, like, fairies or something, completely incomprehensible to the rest of man and ontologically not capable of anything we would call sin. They just work so differently, you know? Except they don't.

Actually it's just a brain wiring that makes you interpret the world in a specific way that, when you interact with the majority of people, who are allistic, unfortunately causes all of you misery.

There's nothing about that that education can't fix. I'm allistic, my mother isn't, I spent my whole life in the misery vortex usually experienced by autistic people, and what I got from there was an ability to come off almost kind of quasi-normal to autistic people by autistic standards. I thought I was stupid and broken and wrong on the inside, but I was perfectly able to be perfectly charming and normal, for a while.

My autistic friends frequently try to claim me, which is annoying but I see why — what allistic has ever been taught to understand them and value their perspective? No allistic could be except someone like me, with a largely autistic family who all believed that they were the norm or even an ideal and lived in a curated world largely designed around their preferences. We're just not that frequently the neurominority anywhere.

There's a specific way that autism interfaces with patriarchy and with the internet that produces recognizable effects:

Most autistic women, being women, internalise that the problem is them and live lives full of suffering, in the full belief that they could never even intellectually grasp what it is to be "normal". Some autistic women reject this paradigm but only have one other to turn to, and this is the type specimen of the femcel, a noble but tragically tormented creature.

A concerning number of dipshit autistic men start chanboards where they convince each other that they are the human default and socialize each other into considering the most unhinged and depraved shit normal, and then launch psyops against wider society from there because... something or other, resentment and noncomprehension probably, I don't know, I don't care. They used to do this in different ways in the analog world (if you've met enough clerics in any religion you will instantly know what I mean), the internet just made it easier.

Dipshit allistic men browse them too, but they don't usually live there, whereas the way it's designed and the ostensible community culture is engineered by autistic megachuds to attract and retain more of themselves in an endless, fetishistic spiral of miserywank. Somehow we've arrived at a point in the culture where young boys think they're super cool because they're under an impression that the insanity on those forums is what grownup society is really like under a veneer of feminism, which is bad because it means they have to listen to mommy.

The humour on there toes a specific line between casual self-deprecation, countercultural edgelorddom and internalised ableism that is deeply appealing to little boys, a weak demographic that everything male and older than them shits on from a giant sequoia and has in every patriarchy since the dawn of human memory. (Granted, less in some than others. Jewish men tend to be kind of normal about little Jewish boys.)

Autistic kids are particularly vulnerable to being groomed into such cultures because they offer them alternatives to an allistic world that doesn't want to try to understand them and punishes them for trying to understand it, and when you combine it with the general patriarchal impulse to solve all problems with mass violence, well.

I think this is a new phenomenon, probably enabled by online gaming, because I don't know how else this demographic would manage to interface with impressionable schoolchildren not already in the loop. But the way it works is very old, and it puts grown men into the world who think being autistic while male is a form of oppression so severe that they should just be allowed to do whatever to whoever in recompense. Call them out? They don't even have to defend themselves, people who want to use autistic people to virtue signal and believe that autistic men are all harmless little infantile oompsymoompsyboos will do it for them.

A mirror of this is readily observed on tumblr, where any time you tell someone with demonstrably similar socialisation that they worded something in a way that was kind of fucking shitty, they jump down your throat to tell you off for tone policing a 31-year-old neurodivergent minor.

Except I don't have to give a shit what anyone on here says ever, at all, whereas on 4chan the culture is gleefully violent and supportive of doxxing in exactly the kind of way you could expect from a collection of rancidly pseudo-macho autistic chuds who internalised the rules of the playground in 1990 and decided they applied to everything forever.

between kanye, elon, and thousands of misogynistic twerps on the internet i think we should finally be allowed to talk about how autistic men kinda suck and do weaponize their condition to excuse awful behavior.

[lemotmo]

Ryan gave same answer to buddie question he is been giving from the moment bi buck was canon. He didn’t say in same words like Eddie is straight and buck Eddie are brothers but he did say the same in so many words like friendship between straight and queer characters is an important storyline and that’s priority than anything else

I always try to ignore interviews especially Ryan’s answers to buddie questions as what they think is not important and what the show is trying to show is important. But at this point I am not really sure if I should trust the show as Ryan is the one playing Eddie and his answer at this point of time is same and not even vague like let’s see where the script goes or I am ok with what ever the story takes. Just don’t know what to expect at this point

To be clear I am not saying Ryan is homophonic or anything, he seems like a kind person who treats everyone equally and with respect. But with all his answers in interviews, I get a feeling like he is not so much comfortable with playing a gay character (for what ever reason I don’t know and I don’t question or judge people choices as it doesn’t harm any real people).

If Eddie is still straight by 8.14 or 15, I don’t have much hope

Nonny, all do respect, but I have to ask this:

Why did you bring this to my blog? You must have seen my enthusiasm about Ryan's latest interview and how it has only strenghtened my conviction that Buddie is going canon. So why would you post this here when you already know what I'm going to tell you?

I also don't understand your reaction here. I've been in this fandom for years now and I've never been more confident that it's going canon than now. Before season 7 I never even thought Buddie would get a fighting chance.

What did you expect Ryan to say in this interview? 8b hasn't aired yet, so he can't disclose any of the upcoming storylines. He was always going to rehash some of his earlier answers from previous interviews, because what else could he possibly answer?

The inevitable Buddie question came and -once again- he had to find a way to answer it without spoiling anything. What could he possibly have said? He can't just come out and say that Buddie is going canon at this point, because it hasn't happened yet.

So he said the only thing he could say, the message that no matter who you are and who you love in life, it's important to support each other. Which is a beautiful message in itself.

He isn't saying anything else than Oliver did in his pre-biBuck days. It's the same 'trying to talk about it, but not allowed to say anything' kind of thing. 🤷‍♀️

And what about the question where Ryan was asked what advice he would give Eddie? His answer was so telling. It hinted at Eddie not being straight in such a profound way. That was basically the only thing he could say when it comes to Eddie's sexuality storyline.

The man's hands were and are tied. They have been for a long time. And no, he isn't afraid to play a gay man. How do I know this? Because he has actually played a gay man before in another project. He also talked about, on multiple times, the fact that he would be all for Buddie if the story would go there. Those are not the words of a man who doesn't want to play a gay man.

If he really wouldn't want to play a gay man, he would just state it out loud. He would say something like 'Yeah, the Buddie thing is a really fun thing. Oliver and me joke about it, but it isn't going to happen. Eddie is very straight and he will never be interested in Buck like that.' BAM! Just like that he would make it clear to everyone that he isn't willing to play that part and it isn't happening.

Now, if you want an example of an interview by someone who really doesn't want to play a gay character, but had no other choice because it was the only job he could get? Look no further and Google one of Lou Fjr's unhinged interviews where he talks about how he doesn't think it's always appropriate for two characters to make out on screen, but that rule only seems to apply to male/male relationships. He never seemed to have any issues with making out with women on screen before. 🙄

But anyway, let's not get distracted here by talking about that man and let's get back onto the subject of Ryan's interview.

I know that I probably won't be able to change your mind on this Nonny and I'm not even going to attempt it, because in all honesty? I'm tired of all the nay-saying and the inevitable spiral of fear that happens every single time when something happens in this fandom.

I don't know what you want? I've been in so many fandoms, shipping ships that NEVER became canon even though they should have. There was always subtext of course, but that's where it ended. The rest of the story we (the fandom) had to build up from scratch.

For Buddie though--

This isn't just about subtext anymore Nonny. This is fullblown TEXT! It's all there in the show, in the PR, in the interviews, in social media, in Family Fued and Jeopardy! What more could you possibly want?

If you don't believe it by now? There is nothing I can say or do to convince you, so you will just have to wait and see as the episodes air.

Tell you what though--

I predict that we will find out about Eddie's sexuality sometime before or at the very last in episode 8x15. Bold statement, I know. But I feel very confident about this. Oh and Buck? I'm willing to bet that all of his spiraling will finally lead to him realising he is in love with Eddie and this will be shown to us even sooner than Eddie's coming out.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Now excuse me while I go bask in the glory of the impending promise that is Buddie canon. 😏

[singstaircase]

When the Phone Rings– CS55

Summary: The plan was simple– pretend to be your own kidnapper, pressure the cold and distant husband into either divorcing you himself or paying 'you' enough to do it yourself. What wasn't accounted for? His unexpected care and sheer stubbornness.

contains: angst, fluff, implied unhappy marriage, Carlos Sr is the villain because I needed one, reader can speak but is selectively mute, marriage of convenience or is it? Based on the few episodes I saw of the show of the same name.

Carlos and his family think the reader can't speak. The only people who are aware that she can speak is her mother and her friend, Alexandra. Alexandra is the only person the reader speaks to. Felipe and Sofia are the reader's stepfather and stepsister. Alexandra is Alexandra Saint-Mleux.

This is the seventh call. Maybe the eighth, (Name) is starting to lose the count at this point.

She places her steaming cup on the bedside table and at seven pm sharp, dials the number.

Carlos picks up after the first ring.

"Again?" He says. His voice has a hint of irritation but also something else– determination.

"You're persistent, huh?" (Name) rasps, trying to disguise her voice, though it's not needed. The burner phone came with a voice changer after all. Still, she does this every call, just to be safe.

"And you are repetitive," he shots back. The line goes quiet for some time after that, so (Name) picks up her cup and takes a small sip.

Sensing Carlos won't break the silence, (Name) decides to speak again. "You are awfully calm for a man being threatened, Mr. Sainz."

Carlos chuckles, the sound both amused and tired. "You say the same thing everytime. It's getting repetitive."

Het jaw tightens. "Then here's something new. If you don't divorce her, something will happen."

A pause. Then, "To me or her?"

(Name) blinks. She wasn't expecting this. "Why do you care?"

"You act like I don't care," his voice is steady, firm, "but I care about her, more than you realize." and full of confidence.

Her grip on the phone tightens. "Then pay me. I'll leave you both alone."

"You won't succeed in separating us," Carlos speaks so confidently that it makes her chest ache. "No matter what you try."

(Name)'s breath hitches.

Before she can respond, the line goes end.

She stares at her phone, a sinking feeling growing in her chest.

This isn't working.

1.

That evening, Carlos knocks on her door.

"Let's make dinner together," he signs. His hands moved with an ease that tells her he thought this through and practiced before asking.

(Name) hesitates.

Carlos never did this before. Never tried to involve her in his life.

But she finds herself nodding anyway.

***

What starts as a simple meal, turns into flour fights, laughter and accidental touches.

Carlos isn't the best at cooking—he sliced the onions too thick and nearly set the oil on fire—but he laughed and it was infectious.

He guides her hands as they knead dough, his warmth lingering even after he stepped back.

At one point, without thinking, Carlos reaches up to brush flour from (Name)'s cheek. His thumb lingers longer than it should have.

(Name) should have pulled away. But she doesn't.

When they finally sit down to eat, she finds it hard to look at him.

This is a dangerous game she's playing.

2.

(Name) wasn't expecting to get the job.

She applied for the job of the interpreter on impulse, wanting something of her own.

No one on the Williams team knows about her relation with Carlos. It just makes things easier, and the perfect choice.

She was also not expecting Carlos to care.

So when he finds her, that day, after training and signs, "Congratulations."

She freezes.

She didn't realize Carlos knew or cared.

That night, there's a knock on (Name)'s door.

On the other side, Carlos is holding a small velvet box. Inside is a delicate necklace with a tiny charm.

"For your new job," he signs, almost shyly.

(Name)'s breath is caught. Before she can react, Carlos steps closer and clasp it around her neck. His fingers barely touch her skin but she feels the warmth lingering.

Their eyes meet in the mirror.

(Name) swallows hard.

She is supposed to make him want to let go.

Then why does it feel like he is holding on tighter ?

3.

Live.

In front of cameras. In front of thousands of people watching.

(Name) stands beside Carlos, hands gripping her notepad tightly. The interviewer is chatting with another driver first, giving her a few extra minutes to calm herself.

Her heart, however, is anything but calm.

She has done this before. But not live. Not where any mistake will be instantly broadcasted to the world.

She feels Carlos shift beside her. Then, quietly, he leans in.

"You’re going to do amazing," he murmurs. His voice is warm, reassuring.

Slightly startled, (Name) looks up at him.

Before she can react, Carlos reaches for her hand under the table, giving it a small, firm squeeze. He lets go only when the interviewer turns to them.

***

The interview starts and (Name) forces herself to focus. She translates Carlos' answers effortlessly, her hands moving with confidence.

The longer it goes on, the more natural it feels. She barely notices Carlos watching her—how, every time she moves, he follows her gestures like she is the only person in the room.

It isn't until later, scrolling through her phone, that she sees what the world saw.

Twitter and Instagram were filled with clips of the interview. But instead of just Carlos’ words, people were fixated on something else.

“The way Carlos looks at his interpreter is so!!!!.”

“Someone tell me why he’s staring at her like she is the stars in the sky???”

“Imagine being so in love you forget you’re on live TV.”

(Name) frowns, scrolling through video clips of Carlos speaking. His gaze was always on her. Always. She didn't even noticed.

Her stomach twists.

Then, she feels a presence besides her.

"Interesting choice of content," Alexandra teases, peering over her shoulder.

(Name)'s hands tighten around her phone.

"I was just—"

"Analyzing?" Alexandra finishes, smirking.

(Name) scrolls back to a paused clip, Carlos’ expression frozen mid-sentence—his eyes warm, his lips curved in a way that looked almost… soft.

It doesn't mean anything. It can't.

Alexandra nudges her. "So… second thoughts?"

(Name) hesitates.

"I still want the divorce," she says. But the words felt unsteady.

Alexandra hums. "You think so, at least."

(Name) doesn't respond.

4.

(Name) tries to keep her distance.

She reminds herself of the plan. Reminds herself that Carlos isn't her's, not really.

And then, it rains.

Carlos was with the team all afternoon, testing at the track. And (Name) stayed late to wrap up some notes.

By the time she steps out, the sky is pitch black.

Carlos is leaning against his car. Judging by his bored expression and constant darting at his watch, (Name) can tell he is waiting for someone.

Is he waiting for me? The thought makes her heart flutter.

(Name) shakes her head. He doesn't care, at least that's what's she's been telling herself for the past few days.

But she can answer to herself, Carlos' eyes find hers.

He opens the door to the car before even speaking. "Let's go home."

(Name) shakes her head, phone ready in hand to answer.

It’s fine. I’ll call a taxi.

Carlos frowns. "In this weather?" He gestures to the rain, where the track lights makes the downpour shimmer like falling glass. "Just get in."

She hesitates, but another gust of wind sends rain splattering against her.

So she climbs in.

***

They don't speak—not out loud, at least. Instead, (Name) pulls out her phone.

You don’t have to do this.

Carlos glances at her. "Do what?"

Pretend that you care.

His grip on the wheel tightens. "I am not pretending," he says.

They stop at a red light.

Carlos reaches toward the dashboard, turning up the heater. "Are you cold?"

(Name) swallows but shakes her head.

When they arrive, he pulls up in front of the house but doesn't unlock the doors immediately.

"You think I don’t care," he says quietly. "But I do."

(Name) doesn't move. Doesn't look at him.

She opens the door and steps out without a word.

Inside, she presses her back against the door, her heart hammering.

She has to end this.

But somehow, Carlos keeps making it harder.

5.

The dinner was uncomfortable from the start.

Carlos warned (Name) about his father but nothing could have prepared her for this.

***

(Name) spent most of the evening in silence, answering questions with polite smiles and written responses on her phone when necessary.

And then, Carlos Sr turns his attention to (Name).

"This whole marriage," he starts, and points at Carlos and (Name), swirling his wine glass lazily, "was a disaster from the start. We were supposed to get Sofia. But Felipe pawned off his broken daughter and we were fools to take her."

The table falls silent.

(Name) doesn't do anything, but her fingers tightens its grip on her fork.

Shaking his head, Carlos Sr leans back in chair. "She can't even speak. Pathetic."

Carlos' jaw clenches.

"She is a disgrace," his father continues. "We give them everything and they humiliate us with–"

"Enough!"

Carlos' voice is sharp, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.

Carlos Sr scoffs. "Excuse me?"

Everyone on the table looks around, trying to figure out a way to diffuse the situation.

And then, Carlos puts down his glass. "I said enough."

His father narrows his eyes. "I don't appreciate that tone, boy."

"And I don't appreciate you insulting my wife."

A murmur ripples through the table.

Carlos Sr scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. "Don't act like you actually care about this marriage, Carlos. You wouldn't even acknowledge her in public–"

Carlos pushes back his seat and gets up.(Name) looks up at him in alarm.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Carlos says coldly. “You think (Name) is pathetic? That she’s some kind of burden? She’s the only person in this family with any real dignity.”

Carlos Sr's expression darkens. “Watch your mouth.”

“No, you watch yours.” Carlos leans forward, resting his hands on the table. “You want to be president, right? You need Felipe’s influence to make that happen. So maybe you should start talking to my wife with the respect she deserves.”

Carlos Sr's face turns red with rage.

Carlos turns to (Name) and holds out his hand. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

(Name) hesitates.

His father stands up. "Carlos." His voice is dangerously low. “You will not walk away from this table.”

Carlos doesn't even look at him.

“I won’t stay in a place where my wife is being disrespected.”

(Name) places her hand in his and together, they walk out.

+1

(Name) needs air.

Carlos steps away to handle a call, and (Name) finds her way to the rooftop of the estate.

Her plan is falling apart.

Carlos wasn't supposed to care. Yet, he does. He wasn't supposed to defend her.

And yet he did.

She pulls out the burner phone and almost like a second nature, seeks out Carlos' number. With trembling fingers, she dials his number.

Carlos answers almost immediately. "What do you want again?"

(Name) swallows. She can't stop, not now.

She checks her surrounding and then, lowers her voice. "Why are you still with her?"

Carlos exhales sharply. "Not this again."

“She’s pathetic.” Every inch of her body screaming at her to stop, hating herself for every word. But (Name) presses on. “She can’t even speak. She is a damaged good. A replacement for her perfect sister. Why are you still holding onto her?”

There's a pause.

Then, Carlos starts speaking.

"Because she is the only good thing in my life."

(Name) steps closer to the edge of the roof and closes her eyes. The night breeze cools her skin but isn't able to reach in and calm her pounding heart.

Carlos continues in a steady pace. “Because in a world where everyone takes and demands, she asks for nothing. And still, she gives everything.”

(Name) opens her eyes and grips the phone tighter. A familiar feeling.

“She makes me feel alive,” Carlos admits, his voice starts to get quieter. “Like I can breathe normally for the first time in years.”

(Name)'s chest aches.

“She is not a replacement. She’s not some extra chapter in someone else’s story.” Carlos say. His voice is softer now but full of confidence as well. “She is a brand-new language. One I want to learn.”

(Name) steps back from the edge as tears begin to blur her vision.

"Don't ever talk about my wife like that again," Carlos finishes.

"Then why?" she whispers, the words slipping out before she can stop them, " Why did you treat her like she didn't matter?" She needs to to know. I need to know.

Silence.

"Why did you act like she was invisible?" (Name)'s voice is uneven by now. "Why were you so ashamed to tell everyone that she was your wife?"

There is no answer.

Then–

A chime.

The elevator door behind her slides open.

(Name) turns around, her heart stopping.

Carlos steps out, staring at her, his phone still pressed to his ear.

And in her hand, the burner phone.

His eyes flickers between her tear-streaked face and the device.

Realization dawns.

(Name)'s world caves in.

This literally came to me in my dreams a few weeks ago and I knew I had to write it.

[wicked-disposition]

tw: blackmail. humiliation. power play.

The Secretary ; Jeong Yunho

there's always a lot of work to do, too many orders to obey, a lot of complaints to hear. and you love it.

you love to be the one ordering Yunho around, to see him doing his best so he can keep the job, swallowing his words to not disrespect you when you're actually being a bitch.

but he understands it now and at this point, it's just fun. you try so hard to affect him, so focused on getting on his nerves. you could have anyone you wanted, but you wanted him and that's flattering.

so when he comes in your office during the day, the annoying smirk is already on your lips and he knows you're ready to say something to put him in his place, as usual. but there's no time for it since he grabs you by the neck and pushes you against the wall.

you don't fight back, he can't even hear you complain like you love to do. His eyes examine you carefully in contrast at what his fingers do with your blouse, ripping it off, buttons spread all over the floor.

"i didn't think you would behave so well, but i guess all you wanted was to be a good bitch for me, right?" before you could answer, he turns you around, slamming your face and body on the harsh surface.

He pulls up your skirt and you push your hips against his, urging to feel something, needing more contact. your voice is desperate and whiny when you ask him to touch you and this only makes him smile wide. the fiery boss is nothing but a precious whore for him and you can't even deny it.

he wastes no time and slams himself inside your wet hole, being welcomed with your moans and warmth.

"the door is unlocked and you have cameras here. would you like to see someone stepping in and catching you taking cock like that?" he asks cunningly.

hips going harder, the sounds of your bodies hitting on each other just increasing, your moans getting louder, and you way too lost in pleasure to form any sentence.

"maybe i can get the recording and show my coworkers how good you are for me, i bet they would love to meet the real you." and this idea is not that bad for you, right? to have yourself embarrassed to this point, to have everyone to know you're just a filthy slut who craves cock?

you're clenching around him, swallowing him whole and begging for his cum, he just can't deny you that. so he gives it to you, thrusting nonstop so he can be sure you're filled with all of his load, your juices mixing up and staining your inner thighs.

he’s ready to leave the office when he sees everything is perfect, your shirt is ruined, you are dripping cum as there are many people outside just waiting for you to come out.

"i think our professional relationship will be better from now on."

“you just need to be a good girl and no one will know this is just a facade for the needy bitch you are."

he gives you one last look, a victorious smile on his face.

"good luck, with your meeting you’ll need it."

[sillyhanako]

୧﹒cw﹕kaiser x gn!reader, established relationship, reader knows kaiser before the neo egoist league

୧﹒wc﹕706

As the final whistle pierced the air, signaling the end of an intense battle, the players collapsed onto the ground, utterly spent yet undeniably satisfied. Their bodies ached, but their spirits soared, having pushed themselves to the brink in pursuit of victory. With weary smiles, they exchanged glances —an strengthened bond forged in the heat of competition and shared struggle.

but none of that mattered to you right now. you were beyond spent, you wished nothing but rest. Oh how your bed looks so charming right now... the match felt like a warzone with everyone fighting each other, regardless of whether they were allies or opponents. They were all driven by their egos, each trying to score a goal and be the center of attention.

Sure, you are one of those players, but we don't talk about that - The only goal on your mind was to muster up every last bit of your energy to make your way to your room, and the blue lock layout did not make it easier - seriously, at this point it should be called the Blue Maze! But alas, you managed to feel the welcoming embrace of your chamber once again. However, you must resist the temptation! You reek of sweat, and staying any second longer drenched like this will drive you mad. A shower could solve all of your problems.

Stepping under the hot water, a wave of warmth enveloped you, soothing your sore muscles and washing away the fatigue from the match. The steam curled around you, creating a soft veil that blurred the shower glass. Closing your eyes, you let the hot water cascade over your head, down your back, and pool around your feet. It felt like a much-needed reset, each droplet rinsing away the remnants of competition and reviving your spirit.

After ensuring that you only smelled your favorite scent, you put on a matching black robe that KAISER

had bought for the both of you. As you dried your hair, you scrolled through Instagram posts, casually liking your teammates close friends' only stories.

Finally resting on your bed was supposed to be a euphoric feeling, but you can't help but feel like something's missing, the bed feels way too empty for your liking. You gotta do something about this...

Knock. knock.

"Ness, i told you to leave me alo-"

"Open na noor."

you werent left standing as in mere seconds the door opened, he only knew one person who would knock at his door forty five minutes after the match ended, and it was you. It was opened with a kaiser that was smiling softly at you, a contrast to his previous sour demeanor.

"Ah [name]? What a pleasant suprise, but you usually text me before coming over, no?"

he opened the door wider and stepped aside for you to come in. The room smelled just like his signature fragrance, and they way its customized just screams him, he has his laptop open playing today's match, a casual routine for him to improve his performance.

You ploped down head first into the mattress with his scent filling up your wind pipes, his pillows were all too familiar. you finally knew what was the missing piece that kept you restless, him.

Its safe to say you both reached a point in your relationship were you couldnt sleep without eachother. " my phones almost out of charge, you dont mind right? " you looked up at his form who was going in a beeline towards you "what do you mean i dont mind? weve been together for 3 years im more than okay with your presence besides mine." He knew by your tone what you wanted at this moment.

so he got over his side of the bed (even though its technically his bed) and gently lifted the blanket over your legs and pulled it over the both of you. Its was usually you who spoons him, hugging him to your chest while you scratched his head but perhaps it was fine to swipe the roles from time to time, taking turns pampering the other person sounded nice. however right now youd like to preserve the thinking for an other time and instead enjoy nuzzling into your boyfriend's chest.